


Tell Me It's A Daydream

by Soloxcx



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-03-29 10:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19017829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soloxcx/pseuds/Soloxcx
Summary: Bill has been working tirelessly on his Pokémon storage system for years, and is on the brink of a breakthrough. He rarely gets to see the world outside the walls of Goldenrod, despite being a maniac for Pokémon. What happens when he runs into someone who has seen it all?





	1. Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, I plan to rewrite my sister story _Tell Me It's A Nightmare_ after completing this fic!

A huff of breath, and then a _crack._

Two seconds later, the sound was heard again. Bill looked up from his computer, hands clasped together and fingers bent from cracking his knuckles. He took a brief look at the clock in the corner of his eye, and bent down again, his face only a few inches from the screen, typing away in discordant strokes. 

Left of him, under a second monitor, was a yellow and blue Pokéball, or at least what remained of it. It was open and on its side, with multi-colored wires pulled out of its inner black lining, strewn across the surface of the table. The lining itself had been popped out of place and hung there, suspended by its own wires. Clamping utensils held the wires down at different points, some of them running along the side of the ball and into the center button. It looked like someone had taken a hammer to the object, but delicately, with intent to break open, but not demolish. 

Who knew such a small object could have such an _intricate_ design? And why did there have to be _twenty-odd different types of them_?

The idea was simple: take Pokémon, stored in Pokéballs, and upload them into a database for storage so they could be accessed anywhere. But in the grand scheme, that meant massive servers of Pokémon that had to be maintained constantly, linked to every Pokémon Center in the region. And processing every type of Pokéball.

Well, the databases would come with money. Bill knew that. The Pokéballs were just another phase of design. All he had to do was get his idea out there, and the rest would fall into place. Right?

Beneath him, the floor was littered with different Pokéballs in various states of ruin, surrounding his bare feet dangling from his chair. Books of different sizes and colors were piled up haphazardly alongside his desk, some of them with pages ripped and sticking out the sides. _Object Oriented Arbok Programming_ , one particularly large book at the top of a stack read. 

God, just imagine. Bill’s Pokémon Storage System, er—Bill’s Pokémon Portable Database, no—Bill’s Pokémon Catalogue… well, he had to decide on a name first. 

He had to settle on an online database server for now, but of course there were no available databases equipped with storing Pokémon, because apparently even though the planet has had years of computers and many more years of Pokémon, no one had successfully put the two together. Bill just had to make his own. There’s a first time for everything, he supposed.

_I’ll show them_ , Bill thought. _Just a matter of time._

He shifted backwards in his chair, his hands leaving the keyboard and pushing up from the seat, his eyes scanning the characters on the screen.

Then darting to the Pokéballs on the floor.

He reached behind his monitor and grabbed a camera. If he was going to make history, it better be on tape.

“Alright,” he began, tinkering with the camera, turning it on. It had a long strap, designed to wrap around his neck, but Bill placed it beside the monitor, facing the lens towards him. It overlooked his work, regardless of the mess in the room. He smiled tentatively into the frame.

“Bill here, this is the start of Quick Ball test four.” He made sure the misshapen Quick Ball on his desk got into view of the camera. “Let’s begin.”

He opened a drawer beside him and searched its contents, finding a Quick Ball and taking it out. He tapped the center button gently, confirming that there was a Pokémon inside by enlarging the ball, and then pressed it again to retract the ball. 

Standing up, he carefully walked over the clutter on the floor, and placed the ball on an apparatus that looked strangely like something the pedestal Nurse Joy uses to house Pokémon while healing them. 

“The key,” Bill stood up straight and paused for dramatic effect, raising his voice to be heard. “Is copying data inside a Pokéball, and transporting the ball itself to its own repository.”

That’s where other engineers had failed, Bill figured. While they were focused on keeping the literal aspect of Pokéballs, with Pokémon inside them, into one place for collection, it would be so much more efficient to just use the ball’s data and then deal with the ball itself separately. Organizing the data could also allow the user to customize their stored Pokémon in whatever way they desired. All he had to do was keep track of which Pokéball belonged to each Pokémon, and transport the Pokéballs to and from destinations. Luckily, he had just the technique for that.

Across the room, a sleeping Abra was lying still on a red cushion. It’s little yellow body didn’t stir in its sleep, as if it was frozen in stone. It was one of Bill’s only companions, while he worked on his project.

With the Quick Ball secure inside the copying machine, Bill took a step back and approached his sleeping Abra.

“Hey, buddy,” Bill spoke softly, leaning towards the creature with his hands on his knees. He reached to tap it on the forehead, and its head twitched reactively. “Time for you to do your thing, okay?”

The creature didn’t move any further, but Bill could catch a glimmer of a piercing gleam from its closed eyes, only for a split second. Rarely does an Abra ever open its eyes, if not to perform an ability where its focus is needed somewhere else that is beyond its own body. 

Just like that, the Quick Ball disappeared from the machine. Bill eagerly pointed to a basket next to the copying device.

And the ball reappeared, but this time it was underneath Bill’s desk, joining the other dysfunctional Pokéballs. A soft clump was heard as it hit the carpet. 

A roar of laughter escaped Bill’s lips, and he brought a hand to his mouth to muffle the noise. Okay, maybe he needed a better plan than literally having a psychic Pokémon teleport the Pokéball somewhere. The Abra went right back to sleep, emotionless. Did it even awake itself for the teleportation? Sometimes, Bill couldn’t tell.

“I guess I shouldn’t have startled you, sorry bud.”

Wiping his eyes, Bill sat back down, and turned the monitor to face the camera. On the screen, several windows held tables of data.

TRAINER_ID: 31939  
TRAINER_FNAME: William  
TRAINER_LNAME: Masaki  


The Trainer table appeared to be linked to a Pokémon table:

PKMN_NDEX_ID: 133  
PKMN_NAME: Eevee  
PKMN_BALL: Quick Ball 004  
PKMN_DEPOSIT: Terminal 1  
PKMN_FNT: False  
PKMN_ITEM: Null

Bill gave a thumbs up to the camera. The copying part of the test had been a success. He would have to go back and gather tables for the stats of the Pokémon, but for now he was content that the words “Quick Ball” were on the screen.

“Okay, successfully replicated data of the ball. A minor miscalculation on transporting—”

A female voice suddenly interrupted him, coming from his computer. “Bill!” she shouted cheerfully as her face appeared on the screen. 

“I’m—” Bill forced a smile after the interruption, turning to look at the screen. “I’m recording.”

“Yeah, so what.” Her face had the slightest hint of rebellious intent. She was crouching down to look into her laptop that was probably placed atop a stack of books not unlike the books in Bill’s own room. That was Bebe. At least Bill had the decency to use a desk. “Wow, you look like a disaster.”

“Good to see you too,” Bill said, and reached to turned off the recording, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” Bebe was undeterred, leaning closer into the screen as if to get a better look at Bill, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Bill sighed, realizing it was going to be difficult to back out of that question.

“It’s not like you have a deadline, though. Or…?” Both her eyebrows were raised this time. “ _Bill?_ ”

“No, no,” Bill frowned. “It’s true,” he said, watching the mess he had made of the ball on his desk. “I’m not even halfway done.”

“Don’t work yourself to death, then," Bebe dismissed. “Aunt Bebe is here to check up on you, at least.” Bebe was sitting cross-legged, now, and a Glameow had crawled into her lap. She looked a bit like a nefarious cat lady.

“Aunt? You’re younger than me.”

“But twice as mature,” she retorted.

Bill rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”

“You’re nineteen and living with your parents.” Bebe was scratching behind the ears of her cat Pokémon.

“That’s not a bad thing.” Bill wished he could have his own cat that he could scratch behind its ears. “You know why I’m still here,” he continued, “besides, nowadays kids don’t tend to move out as soon as possible anymore, if they aren't going to be a trainer.”

“I’m _just_ teasing you,” Bebe said, emphasizing the second word. Perhaps Bill had looked a little too sternly at the girl in the screen.

“I know.” 

“Soooo,” Bebe began, changing the subject, “I wanted to tell you about my experience in the Veilstone Game Corner you asked about. You know, the reason I started this call.”

“You mean the reason you started a video chat in my room without warning?” Bill shot back. It was his own turn to try and get under the other person’s skin.

“Yeah, yeah. _Oops_.” Bebe joked, obviously not sorry. She reached for a mug out of view and brought it to her lips. 

“You’re hopeless,” Bill murmured. " _So,_ " he said, mocking her voice, "you went gambling?”

“Oh shut up, I wasn’t gambling. I was just, sort of, testing my luck to see what the prizes were,” Bebe fumbled. “I drove quite a ways to get there, too.” 

“Did Mommy approve of you being at the Game Corner?” Bill chuckled to himself, reaching into a drawer to find the next Pokéball to destroy. 

“The point is that the prizes here are not Pokémon, you jerk.”

Bill closed the drawer and looked at her. “What are they, then?”

“Just items and technical machines, you know.” Bebe crossed her arms. “So. Your master plan of having me win rare Sinnoh Pokémon and mailing them to you will unfortunately not work out.”

“Oh, darn.” Bill was still a little sarcastic in his response. 

“They do have Pokémon in _your_ Game Corner, though. You could go and. You know. Get them yourself. You don’t even have to catch them.”

Bill visibly hung his head back, dejected, so Bebe could see just how exasperated he was at that comment. “...That would involve going outside.”

“Oh you poor thing. I thought you would do anything to get your hands on more interesting Pokémon,” Bebe said. “Well, you should have befriended an actual Pokémon trainer, instead of little old Bebe.”

“Awww, what happened to ‘aunt’?”

“You can _literally_ walk there, Bill. And they have an Abra,” Bebe protested, cradling her Glameow. “And—”

“I already have one of those."

“—and you love that thing. If an Abra is their most basic prize, then who knows what else they could offer. I’d go with you, you know,” she looked up, smiling. “We could take turns eyeing up cute boys. But, I’m kind of on the other end of the planet over here.”

"I— I can do that on my own." Bill choked through his words, fighting the flush that was daring to speck his cheeks.

"Uh-huh." Bebe cupped her face with her hands, lowering her voice. “Have you told you parents?” she whispered. "You know."

“No…” Bill scrunched his mouth into an unreadable expression. “Just not something we talk about. Not that I’d think they’d have a problem with it, it’s just. I’m. It’s not that simple,” he stuttered. Bill had been so caught up in his incredibly ambitious project and studies and his family and and and he just _didn’t have time_ to worry about _that_. 

“Hey! Hey.” Bebe held her hands up in surrender. “That was personal. My bad.”

“It’s alright,” Bill sighed. He supposed it wouldn’t be the end of the world to go see what the Corner has to offer. Perhaps it would even be a little fun.

This time, a different female voice interrupted him. Time for lunch.

 

“What are you doing with all those Pokéballs?” Mrs. Masaki stood at the sink, cleaning several different knives one by one. She was a stout woman, and her smile bore through deep dimples. Bill ambled down the stairs from his room, his hand sliding down the familiar railing. 

“It’s for my project. I’ve told you about it, right?” Bill said tentatively, taking an enthusiastic whiff as he arrived in the kitchen. “I need to analyze each different type of Pokéball so my storage system can accept and identify Pokémon from them.”

“Sounds complicated,” Mrs. Masaki replied in her usual motherly tone. “Look at you, my little engineer,” she added. "Just don’t let it get in the way of your school work, okay?”

That reminded him: he needed to get a hold of a _Master Ball_ , and how the hell could he do that? It would be incredibly expensive, if Silph Co. would even let him get one. He had heard tales about that Pokéball, one that even the greatest trainers might not ever see. The ball was most certainly not in circulation. He may have to turn to the black market for one.

Or maybe he could just implement every _other_ type of Pokéball and if the system doesn’t recognize a ball then it defaults to a Master Ball. The unknown ball could still be assigned an ID and then it could be selected from the ball repository… or, no, that wouldn’t be right. It implies that data stored in a Master Ball is done in the same way as the other Pokéballs, and as soon as a new Pokéball is made, any Pokémon stored with them would have to be reassigned…

“Are you hungry?” Mrs. Masaki asked, pulling Bill away from his thoughts. Bill caught himself blankly sitting at the table.

“Yeah, sorry. I just have a lot of my mind, I guess.” He picked up his utensil of choice and dove in. “Where’s the little devil?” Bill said, looking around, taking in the room.

Mrs. Masaki shook her head at him. “She already ate. I think my schedule revolves around her sometimes. And don’t call her that,” she continued after a pause, “your sister is nothing but angelic.”

Except she wasn’t. Younger siblings are always a handful, and Bill knew that raising her without Dad at home wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. But Bill loved his sister, and wanted to help his mother when he could here in Goldenrod.

They were fortunate enough to be able to afford living in Goldenrod with its brilliant skyline and attractions. However, going out to actually see the city... that was another story.

Especially when he never got to _leave_.

Perhaps there was no point in leaving if you weren’t a trainer and the city offered everything. It was the center of Johto’s economy after all. But the rest of the region, hell, the rest of the world was full of mystery and danger, and most importantly an ungodly number of Pokémon each with their own unique qualities that he would just itch to study.

At the same time, becoming an actual full time trainer, exploring the world, filling a Pokédex, or attempting the Pokémon league... it was all out of the question, because that would mean leaving his mother and sister behind. 

He could find a job outside of Goldenrod, after finishing up his studies, which would help him support his family from afar. But Goldenrod, being the beacon that it was, made it so all the state of the art programming positions would likely end up within its walls anyway, unless he somehow got accepted into working with big name companies from other regions. 

Bill hoped that his storage system idea could change all that.

How could a city that has _everything_ feel so _boring_?

“Thinking of going out for a bit,” Bill said in between mouthfuls. 

“You just remember your curfew." Mrs. Masaki didn’t look up from her kitchen work, then stopped, remembering something. She opened a cabinet and reached inside.

She handed Bill a small bowl of pink and lime colored Poffins, after he was done eating. “I forgot; you take these for Abra. They’re from Sinnoh, the department store recently introduced them and I figured the little guy would like a treat or two.”

He took them happily. “Oh, thanks. It won’t communicate much one way or the other, but it will.”

Abra was Bill’s first Pokémon. The city’s National Park had its own assortment of wild, docile Pokémon that would inhabit the area, and Bill managed to catch the Abra there in an effort to study it further, with his excess of Pokéballs that he ordered. 

And he wanted to study it for good reason — the Pokémon was fascinating. While it may never open its eyes and rarely move, it senses everything around it with telepathy, and teleports away at the slightest sense of danger. The idea that the creature could simultaneously sleep and telepathically keep track of its surroundings prompted him to research into the mysteries of Psychic-types, and what goes on in their subconscious. 

That, and getting a hold of a Pokémon capable of teleportation was crucial to his storage system. For now. 

Abra doesn’t seem to want to teleport away when it is around Bill, so he figures he is doing something right with the creature. Perhaps the creature prefers its life with Bill as it’s probably safer than being out in the wild. However, when out of its Pokéball, it stays up in his room because it doesn’t seem to have reached that same level of trust with the other members of Bill’s family. 

Bill remembers when he first released it in the house, not expecting it to instantly teleport into the basement, and spending the next half of the day searching for it, overturning everything in the house, fearing that it had hurt itself in its panic. 

And so he learned that Abra’s teleportations can become chaotic when it doesn’t have time to process everything around it. Not willing to put the family through that again, he keeps Abra in the room and even his temperamental sister knows to avoid the psychic creature.

His mother put up with the Abra as she said it couldn’t possibly hurt anyone. Bill figured the real reason was that she wanted Bill to have some extra company, even if he had somehow picked the most socially inept Pokémon possible to be his companion. 

Bill hasn’t thought much about training it, but perhaps he should, as it could evolve into the much more dexterous Kadabra, a Pokémon definitely more capable of cooperating with him. Not that Bill has the first clue on how to train the thing when all it does is sleep and teleport. Maybe he could just feed it a handful of Rare Candies and that would be enough to cross the threshold into evolving. 

God, he wondered what it would be like to be an Abra, with every sensation of the nearby world boiling around in its tiny brain, unable to communicate, _trapped in its own little world_. A pretty miserable life, probably. So the least he could do was leave it outside its Pokéball most of the time and care for it.

Bill shuffled on his coat, prepared to face the chill of winter as soon as he opened the door. The cold was just enough to keep most people indoors, so he hoped the Game Corner wouldn’t be heavily crowded. His little sister sat on the other end of the entryway, playing with Pokémon dolls. "Where are you going?" she asked, locking innocent eyes with Bill.

"To the Game Corner, I think," he answered. "Get some air, try to have fun, or something," he added, practically more to himself than to his sister.

"Are you going to win me a Charizard?" She was holding the little firey doll up towards Bill, making _swooshing_ noises as if the doll was going to use a Flamethrower on Bill right there.

Bill couldn't help but smile earnestly. Bebe might not be able to provide enough motivation to get out of the house and see his stupid old city, but his sister certainly could. "Maybe I will." He feigned being struck by the Flamethrower as he turned to face the door, laughing.

_Here goes nothing_.


	2. Got My Number

_Oh. Oh no._

The crowd circling the entrance to the Game Corner meant that the place was at least twice as populated as Bill thought it would be. Pulling the collar of his coat higher so that he could just about press half of his face into its warmth if he tried, he swallowed away the sinking feeling in his throat and pressed onward. He ducked through the crowd and into the door. The flamboyant neon lights of the building beckoned him inside: _Your Playground!_ , they read.

His intuition turned out to be correct. The first thing that caught his eye was what looked like maybe seven people all gathered between three slot machines, whooping and hollering as a few of them took turns spinning the machine. _Geez_. The slot machines can’t possibly be _that_ entertaining. 

One girl had her coin case open and it looked like she was down to her last few coins, while someone else was scooping into their machine to fill their case to the brim.

The first floor had six rows of slot machines and frankly had a disgusting color combination of an orange harlequin pattern floor and… green walls? Like it was designed to be as conflicting as possible. Not the greatest first impression, Bill thought dully.

 _Okay_ , Bill told himself. This is the Game Corner.

He felt a little awkward standing inside now that he had actually crossed the line of going into the building. Pretty much all the slot machines were taken; he would have to wait for someone to finish up for him to play, if he wanted. Through the commotion, he could just make out the receptionist desk at the back. Why that wasn’t at the entrance was beyond him.

“New here?” the receptionist asked as Bill approached. 

“Is it that obvious?” Bill sort of half rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Then you need a coin case.” The receptionist pulled one out, and offered it to Bill. It had a velvety exterior and it looked just about spacious enough to hold thousands of coins. A handful of coins were already inside the case. “Those are on us. Welcome to the Game Corner!”

“Say…” Bill started, closing the case with a snap. “What are the prizes here?”

The receptionist pointed to a poster on the wall. The prizes were a bunch of (very expensive) technical machines and items to be held by Pokémon, likely the same ones that the Veilstone Game Corner offered. Absolutely useless to Bill, anywho. Under them, though, was a list of Pokémon that could be bought. 

_Abra_ , two-hundred coins. _Ekans_ , seven-hundred coins. _Sandshrew_ , seven-hundred coins. _Dratini_ , two thousand one hundred coins. Not the widest selection of Pokémon, all things considered. And Bebe was wrong: Abra was definitely the most interesting of the bunch, except a Pokémon like Dratini costing over two thousand coins must mean it is something special. He supposed that would be an adequate goal to aim for, if he was going to walk out of here with something.

Bill turned around to look at everyone in the Corner. _They all must be trainers_. Each reward had something to do with Pokémon. 

“Would you like to buy any coins?” The receptionist was tapping her nails on the glass display case that acted as part of her desk.

“No thank you.”

Bill looked around again, furrowing his brows. This might have been a mistake. He was out of his element, surrounded by all these people. He could have another Pokéball tested and successfully implemented by now. Oh well.

“The bottom floor has Voltorb Flip tables, if you are interested,” the receptionist offered. She must have seen Bill’s hesitative face as he overlooked the vicinity. “Should have room.” He nodded at her, not knowing what on earth a Voltorb Flip table was, but seeing as it was likely an opportunity to get away from the crowd, he took it upon himself to wander to the stairs. 

He ended up getting face to face with a bouncer who was standing at the stairs with his arms crossed, and Bill fought the brief urge to panic, as he had no way of showing the man any identification or something of the sort. Was that kind of thing even necessary in a place like this? But, the bouncer simply stepped aside with an approving grunt. Bill guessed that he didn’t look threatening at all. A good trait to have.

The bottom floor was strikingly different than the previous. Rather than the floor and walls being so gruesomely juxtaposed, the room matched a soft indigo blue, and the lights were dimmer. It looked homely, in a word. And of course, much less people. Four wooden tables with glass surfaces were arranged around the room, and under the glass he could see what the receptionist meant: a Voltorb logo and what looked like a five by five checkerboard. A group of kids had dragged up some chairs to their table and were playing cards against the glassy surface, Voltorb Flip or whatever be damned. 

Bill walked up to one of the empty tables, and eyed it nervously, not entirely sure how to actually start the game. He pressed both hands against the table and scanned the board. One corner read _Voltorb Flip Lvl. 1_. _Flip the cards and collect coins!_

Okay, Bill reasoned the checkerboard must be a row of cards that can be flipped, and each row had two numbers next to it with an accompanying Voltorb symbol. But, seeing as the board was underneath glass, there wasn’t a way to actually reach in there and flip the cards. Bill pressed on the glass helplessly, thinking maybe the game would sense his touch and flip the card he poked, except that didn't happen at all. 

“Need a little help there?” a voice called out to him nearby. Bill turned to see a young man walking towards him, with curious brown eyes that met his own. 

“Oh. Hey. Um…” Bill sort of glanced back and forth between the boy and the board. “Yeah.”

The boy came up to him and nodded, pressing one hand against the rim of the table and crouching down to reach under it with his other hand. He had black, disheveled curly hair and wore his jacket sleeves rolled up to his elbow. He was dressed well for a place like this, with a messenger bag strapped around his shoulder. He looked like he had just escaped some V.I.P room hidden behind the bookshelves here. “You have to turn on the touchscreen."

The board suddenly lit up, like lights underneath the glass were flipped on, and a counter for _Coins Collected In Current Game_ appeared at the top. “There,” the boy said. “Should be good to go. Doesn’t exactly do a good job of telling you how to do that, huh?” He rose up to meet Bill's wandering eyes again.

“No, it doesn’t,” Bill said, still studying the boy’s features. _Fucking hell_. “Thanks.” _Stop being a creep._

“Come here often?” If he caught Bill looking at him, he must not have cared.

“Nope,” Bill repeated. “Never been.”

“I can show you how this works then, if you want.” Bill thought it was remarkable that someone was so open to starting a conversation with him, a total stranger. It’s something that he probably would never have done on his own. For his own sake, he tossed that thought away as soon as it came. _No. He’s just being a normal human being, unlike me._

“Okay.”

"Well, each card either has a score or a Voltorb, and the point is to flip all the score multiplier cards without hitting a Voltorb. The double digit numbers are the total scores for each row," the boy explained. "And the number next to the Voltorb is the number of Voltorb cards in that row, of course. Look," he tapped five cards in a single row, revealing them all. "This row has no Voltorbs, so you are free to flip them all. Get it?"

So it was like Minesweeper? "Makes sense to me," Bill said.

"Once you hit all the good cards, the round ends, and you advance a level. Hit a Voltorb, and it's all over. Your score is the number of coins the game will give you at the end."

Bill understood, but he was still a little less focused on the game and more on the boy beside him.

"I'm Eli, by the way."

"Bill." 

“Cool. Care for a game? I like these a lot better than the slots. Don’t have to pay to get going. Only need one person to play but,” Eli flashed a grin full of teeth. “It’s more fun with more people, right?”

“Yeah, why not?” Bill answered. 

The game, Bill discovered, is less like Minesweeper and more similar to Picross, where the scores on each row can be used together to strategize where the ‘two’ and ‘three’ cards are located. Still, some forced guesses have to be made, which Eli utilizes with reckless abandon, tapping wildy at some cards before Bill can have time to say _wait_. Eli just laughed and said, “Sometimes you gotta trust lady luck a little bit. You’re new here, so you’ll get there.”

“Looks like she doesn’t like you, then.”

“Sometimes she just has her days.”

 

“You’re good at this, you know,” Eli said as the two of them watched the coin counter move into triple digits. He eventually struck out when a Voltorb was pressed, with Bill giving him a very obvious _I told you so_ look and Eli just returning a devilish smile. “Got time for more?”

“I’ve got a few hours to kill,” Bill replied, not particularly convinced that doing anything else in the corner would be worth his time.

They end up reaching level seven once, with each round getting better and better than the previous, as Bill works out what requirements are needed for a row to be considered ‘dead’ and not worth flipping. Even Eli could admit that he hadn’t thought about that. He lets Bill keep most of the coins that they win, saying that he has plenty compared to Bill, but Bill insists that all he needs is a couple thousand.

“Are you trying to win something?” Bill asked after they finished what must have been a dozen games. 

“Yep. I need a few thousand for a couple of technical machines. You know, Ice Beam and Thunderbolt. Great coverage.”

“You’re a _trainer_?”

“Yeah?” Eli looked at Bill like he had said something totally ridiculous. “What, do I not look like one or something?”

“Sorry,” Bill quickly stammered. “I’m not one. I don’t— I don’t know why I thought that was so surprising.”

Eli just shrugged. “No big, yeah I’m a trainer. Been training in Johto for awhile. Cool region,” he trailed off, dragging an index finger across the glass, mind probably going to a thousand places at that thought. “Anyway, you’re _not_ a trainer?” he eventually said.

“Nope.” Bill hoped Eli wouldn’t turn out to be one of those trainers who looks down upon everyone else who isn’t one. “I love Pokémon, though. I want to win some here, actually.”

Eli looked a little puzzled. “You want to win them, but not to train them?” 

Bill paused, and considered his own Pokémon. If he wasn’t training the Pokémon, maybe he was doing them a disservice. _He_ wanted them so he could study them, but what about what the Pokémon wanted? Did they like being trained, to grow stronger, to evolve? Was it like growing up to them?

Eli must have caught him in serious thought. “I didn’t mean anything by that, you know.”

Bill was about to dismiss the tension when the doors to the bottom floor opened. In came the bouncer Bill had a face-off with earlier, with someone else: a lanky man adorned in a magenta suit, with royal purple shades and matching wavy hair that ran to his shoulders. Someone who immediately screamed _importance_. He was in conversation with the bouncer, pointing to the bookshelves that lined the nearest wall of the room. _Wait— is that?_

“Excuse me for a moment,” Eli said, leaving the table and Bill behind to walk to the new guest.

Bill stood there, their conversation still lingering in his brain, pretending not to care but _of course_ he cared, because that was _Lucian_ , and he would be damned if this Eli didn’t pique his curiosity right now. From what Bill could tell, they must be friends. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the conversation appeared to end with Eli looking at whatever device was on his wrist and gesturing vaguely in Bill’s direction. Lucian nodded at him and they took their separate ways.

“Hey, sorry,” Eli said, fidgeting with his — was that a watch? — wrist as he returned to Bill.

“Can I ask what that was about?” Bill mentally facepalmed. Of course it was none of his business. 

“Yeah, I’m training in Johto with him. Lucian, I mean,” Eli replied. “You know him, right?”

“You’re— _really_?”

“Absolutely. All about the Psychic-types, dude’s a guru.”

Bill had to do a double take. “That’s— _cool_? You’re in Johto? Are you training to be part of the Elite Four, or what? And, what the hell kind of watch is that? Just. Words, you know?”

“You’re funny,” Eli just said, and gave a genuine, hearty chuckle, something so trivial that Bill knew shouldn’t fill him with a sense of warmth, but it _does_. “Okay, yeah.” Eli looked right through Bill, trying to piece together all that he was about to say. “Mostly right. I’m not training to be part of the Elite Four or anything, at least that I know of. We’re in Johto to learn about all the Psychic-types here. And,” he raised his arm. “This is a Pokétch; it’s a custom in Sinnoh. It does show the time, like a watch, but it does a lot of other things too.” Eli clasped his hands together. “Does that about cover it all?”

“I think so. Geez.” Bill didn’t quite know what to say. “So you’re from Sinnoh?”

“Yep. Hearthome City! Born and raised.” _Hearthome_. 

“I’ve known you for only a few hours and you’re already the coolest person I’ve ever met,” Bill deadpanned, hoping Eli wouldn’t take that too seriously. 

“And I thought I just said you were _funny_ ,” Eli said, tone half sarcastic and half something else. He looked at the game board, and his Pokétch, and then sighed: “It’s late, I think I should be getting out of here. You?”

 _Me?_ “I guess I can call it, I’ve got enough coins for what I want. Thanks to you.”

Eli waved a hand dismissively. “You did ninety-five percent of the work here, dude.” 

Bill ends up buying the Dratini he (foolishly) thought he was going to be able to do anything with. But, it came in a unique-looking black and orange Pokéball that he doesn’t recognize, so that counted as a win. Sort of.

To his surprise, Eli offered to walk him home.

 

“You’re doing _what_?” Eli stopped walking to gaze at Bill with wide eyes.

“I’m making a Pokémon storage system,” Bill said flatly. “Or, at least I’m trying.” 

“ _How_?” Eli asked, and somehow the exasperation in that question baffled Bill: that someone other than the disaster named Bebe could actually be interested in whatever he was doing. It could be answered in a thousand words. The hours of planning, of _daydreaming_ , poking around in libraries for obscure books that could possibly guide him on bringing thoughts into a reality, even more hours of testing and laughing at Bebe and ordering every Pokéball he could find and cracking them open and trying to find what made them tick—

Bill stupidly had the urge to tell him _everything_. But all he could do was shrug. 

“What’s it like, dude?” 

“There are a lot of things wrong with it,” Bill admitted, “and it’s currently just holed up in my room. But, I'm getting somewhere.”

“That’s… crazy. In a good way.” Eli made some sort of gesture with his eyebrows and continued walking, the streetlight not concealing the smile on his face. Bill caught up, and they quickly fell into step together. “Tell me what you’re working on right now, man.” Eli broke the oncoming silence before it could even happen.

It was so easy to talk about something Bill was passionate about. “Right now, I’m trying to get the system to recognize every Pokéball. Which isn’t hard, but tedious. I don’t have every Pokéball though, and they are so different, so I’m in a bit of a pickle until I get a Master Ball, for example.”

“You need a Master Ball?”

“I do, yeah, and there are probably some miscellaneous Pokéballs where you’re from or somewhere that I don’t know about,” Bill trailed off, thinking aloud.

“I’ll get you one,” Eli replied ever so casually. He could get a Master Ball, because that’s just something that he could do? _Just what are you?_

“You can do that? I won’t be able to like, pay you or anything.” Bill felt stunned for the second time that day.

“Don’t worry about that. Yeah, I can get you one, or more, or… if that’s what you need. Not a problem. Here.” Eli pulled back the sleeve of his coat to fiddle with his Pokétch, tapping the screen a few times before raising that arm towards Bill.

Bill just blinked at him. “Um. What?”

“My number, you goof.”

Bill felt at his pockets for a moment, and then rose his own arm in return. “I don’t know what you’re expecting, but I don’t have one of those watches or anything.” He poked at his own wrist, where the invisible Pokétch would be. 

“You don’t _have_ — I thought they had Pokégears in Johto,” Eli said, giving Bill a funny look. Then he slipped off the Pokétch from his wrist. “Take it, then.”

“ _Take it_?”

“Yeah.”

And Bill did just that, mind going in circles with the oddity of the situation. He slipped it over his wrist, pulling at the strap of the device so it could fit comfortably. Eli showed him how to operate it while they continued to walk home, and Bill was slightly bemused at how many different apps were on the thing.

“Seriously, a coin toss app?”

“I met someone in a resort that installed that,” Eli said. “You never know when you might need it.”

“Oh, really?” The implication that there was a story behind each of the apps was intriguing to Bill, but it was also strange that Eli would hand over something so personal, if that were the case. Bill frowned at the thought, unsure of how to feel, looking back at this Eli, ignoring the cold or the occasional person passing by. _Eli_ , with his messy curls and apparently plethora of fancy watches and Master Balls.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of them,” Eli assured, as if he could read Bill’s mind. “I’ll message you when I get another one.”

Bill kept up the conversation about the Pokétch all the way back to the Masaki household, occasionally catching Eli staring off into the night, at the distant buildings shimmering with their window lights or… whatever people saw when they looked out beyond the city. Bill couldn’t quite figure that one out.

This city is gorgeous, Eli would say, and Bill couldn’t disagree more.


End file.
